


Swing

by starksborn



Series: Quicksand [6]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksborn/pseuds/starksborn
Summary: The Boss is alive. Barely. Unfortunately for them, there's no time to rest when a madman is loose on the city and backed by the deep pockets of the federal government. In order to take down Cyrus they need the help of Killbane and the Luchadores. The Boss and Killbane might be able to work together, but can the rest of the gangs?They're not sure if they really want to find out.
Relationships: Boss (Saints Row)/Eddie "Killbane" Pryor
Series: Quicksand [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/344660
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Swing

**Author's Note:**

> told you it was coming. this is where we begin to really deviate from the game, scoob; you better strap the fuck in.

_You can take a swing at my ego._

* * *

The Boss has been drowning for so long they can no longer remember what it is like to breathe unburdened. They have been fighting the tide since they hit the water after Julius Little's explosion. No matter how much they tread or how loud they scream, they cannot seem to stay with their head above the deep, freezing blackness that surrounds them. Each attempt to pull themself free only entangles them more and more, and as they sit in Killbane's dining room wearing his shirt and feeling the morphine slipping out of their system, the only thing they can think is that perhaps the answer on how to save themself has been obvious this entire time: 

They stop trying. 

Killbane stares them down with deep brown eyes that match the bourbon in his glass and when they dare to glance away and towards the window, they find an even more distressing sight in Johnny's face smiling down at traffic from a billboard, a can of Saints Flow in his hand. Beyond him, the skyline of Steelport glows in the night from the fires STAG has been setting. 

The Boss grinds their teeth as they press a hand to the bandages on their abdomen. It is now dawning on them how rash they were, how fucking _stupid_ they were, attempting to assault STAG head on and completely by themself. They nearly died for it and had Killbane been feeling marginally less charitable, they would have bled out in his garage. They did not stage that attack with a plan or a clear head, they simply ran right into Temple's men as if a witty one liner and a grenade launcher made them invincible. Running headlong without thinking is all they have been doing since Johnny's death. Running away from grief, from feeling, running into Killbane's increasingly present and outstretched arms...

They dare to glance at him once more as they let out a slow breath and lean back in the chair. 

It's time to stop running. It's time to accept reality. 

They take in another breath and try to ignore the increasing level of pain as they close their eyes and think for a moment. 

Reality is this: the Saints are losing against STAG. They're almost losing against Killbane. They cannot fight both any longer, and between the two, STAG is the far more dangerous threat.  
They've known these things, of course, it's just that now is the time to actually face it. Now is the time to fucking do something about it.

“We operate as normal,” they say in response to his question. They open their eyes and meet his gaze head on. He wants to know what they have rattling around in their head? Well, he's going to find out, _tonight._

“What?” Killbane frowns. That is clearly not the answer he was expecting. The Boss slides to the edge of their seat and reaches for his bourbon. The motion sends a sharp, hot edge of pain through their stomach and they cannot hold in the yelp it causes. They sit back down and wrap their arms around their abdomen. He regards them intently before sliding his glass down to them and standing to fetch another one from the kitchen. 

“Got anything to eat in this place?” they ask. Killbane grunts. 

“Nothing I feel like cooking,” he says. 

Battle plans take a small back seat to ordering take out and changing the Boss's wound dressings again. Killbane passes them a handful of pills, and they only briefly consider that they do not actually know what they are and that he is still their day time enemy. 

They decide fuck it, it's after sundown, and wash the pills down with bourbon. 

An hour later the two of them are seated on his sofa, the Boss propped up with two pillows to keep pressure off their stomach, and him stretched out with his feet on the coffee table as he funnels noodles into his mouth. 

“Neither of our gangs are amicable to the idea of the Saints and the Luchadores working together,” they say. The plastic around the fortune cookie in their hands crinkles as they tear it open. “I...don't blame them. For now that could work in our favor. Cyrus isn't an idiot, if we all suddenly stop trying to kill each other he'll know something is up.”

“But if we're still going at it, it keeps him distracted,” says Killbane. “Meanwhile we do...what, exactly?” He quirks an eyebrow at them as he takes a sip of beer. There are two empty beer bottles next to the food containers, and two fingers of watery whiskey sweating onto the wood table top. 

“Have Matt focus whatever he can on Cyrus,” says the Boss. The cookie crunches in their mouth. “His professional life, his work life, whatever funding STAG gets and where it comes from... I'll have Kinzie do the same. If anything, or any _one_ has any ties to him or STAG, we need to know.”

“Makes sense.” Killbane sits up and tosses the empty noodle container aside. He reaches for the Boss's pack of cigarettes and helps himself. The click of the lighter seems impossibly loud in their ears as they take another fortune cookie. “What do we do when we have the information?” 

“We use it against him,” they say. “We wait for the right time, and we bring our two factions together. We use what we learn to bring down everything he's built and bury him under it.” 

Killbane says nothing. He leans back on the sofa and taps the ash off his cigarette as he regards them through the smoke. “What do the two of us do in the mean time?” 

The Boss blinks. They toss another paper fortune aside and adjust their position on the pillows. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that while you have Kinzie digging into Cyrus and while I have Matt doing the same, they both think it's business as usual,” he says. “While we wait on them, what do we do?” 

“Divert as much of our assets for use against Cyrus as possible without raising any flags.” Their response is immediate enough that it even sounds like it could work. “We'll send our people on false missions. Nothing big, nothing that could seriously set either of us back, but enough that they think we’re still aiming for each other.”

“You're sure into subterfuge,” he says. “If I told my people tonight we're to work with the Saints for a larger purpose, they would do so without hesitating. You don't think the Saints would?” 

“No.” This answer comes with a moment of hesitation, and they cannot help to turn it around on him. “Would your Luchadores follow your orders because they respect you that much, or because they’re too terrified to say no?”

Killbane frowns and does not answer at all. The Boss smirks as they reach for another fortune cookie.

“Don’t try and talk to me about loyalty, Eddie, I’m not in the mood,” they say. Killbane’s lip curls at the use of his name, and he stubs the cigarette out angrily in the ash tray. The Boss notices that aside from that, he has once _again_ let them get away with calling him Eddie.

“I do know _one_ thing,” he says as he stands. He collects the empty food containers and tosses them in the paper delivery bag. “Whether it’s fear or loyalty motivating them, if you got people in your so called _family_ that won’t fall in line when you give an order, that means you need to clean house and get your shit in order.” He stands in front of them as he speaks, and not for the first time the Boss is reminded of just how much bigger he is. 

The Boss averts their gaze and places a handful of empty cookie wrappers into the bag. “Yeah,” they say softly, “I know.” As Killbane trudges to the kitchen to throw out the garbage, the Boss is overcome with the realization that he’s as right as he is wrong.

They do need to clean house and they do need to get their shit in order, but it’s not the rest of the Saints that are awry, it’s the Boss themself. 

“I don’t know how to fix this,” they say softly. 

“What?” asks Killbane. He retakes his place at the end of the couch as the Boss opts for ignoring him in favor of collecting their previously discarded fortunes. 

_An unexpected change will yield promising results.  
_

The Boss chews their tongue as they stare down at the slip of paper. They replay moments from the last year in their mind, starting with Johnny’s death and ending with their plunge into the frigid Steelport bay. It is beyond clear that what they’ve been doing hasn’t been working, and that whatever luck was bestowed on the Saints since the Ultor merger has begun to run out. Even as they confidently rattle off their plan to Killbane, they have doubt that it will succeed. They are these days plagued by nothing but doubt and ghosts. 

_You will reunite with someone from your past._

Johnny’s dead, so that seems unlikely. They immediately toss that one and skip to the next, unwilling to spend even a second thinking about him in the state they’re in; not with Killbane still near. 

_You will rediscover your roots._

The Boss lets out a sigh and tosses this one as well as the rest. The unread fortunes scatter like confetti as they lean back into the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. Despite the morphine in their system, Killbane’s lights are beginning to give them a migraine. They wonder idly if he has any sunglasses somewhere in his closet. The couch shifts as he snags the last fortune cookie and tears into it. It crunches beneath his teeth as he unfolds the paper. 

“You will crush your competition and unchain yourself from your worries,” he reads. He snorts. “Who the fuck writes these things?”

“No one, usually,” the Boss says, “they’re mostly randomly generated by a computer.”

“Well, at least _that_ makes sense.” Killbane swallows the remainder of his previously abandoned whiskey, and the Boss closes their eyes. The drugs in their system have made their mind foggy. The wheels are turning, so to speak, they’re just turning slower than normal. It is immensely frustrating, and it combines with the rest of the stress they have been under to form a light layer of angry tears beneath their eyelids. 

Suddenly, something about Killbane’s fortune dredges memories up from the bottom of their soul, and they sit straight up despite the pain that shoots through them. 

“Wait, what did that say?” they ask. 

“You will cru-” Killbane is cut off by the Boss snatching the paper from his hand. They read it. Then they read it again. 

_You will_ _**crush** _ _your competition and_ _**unchain** _ _yourself from your worries._

An image of red asphalt flashes through their mind. It is accompanied by the sound of a gunshot and the sound of crunching metal. 

“Rediscover my roots,” they say softly. 

“All right, you wanna clue me in?” Killbane asks. There is clear annoyance in his voice, and beneath his mask his brows are furrowed. “Now you’re just fucking acting weird.” 

“How do you take a city when it is not yours, and everyone in it wants you dead?” asks the Boss. Killbane blinks. 

“You make sure you’re stronger than everyone else,” he says. 

“No,” they say. “You kill anyone who stands in your way, and then you kill anyone who supported them so you don’t leave a power vacuum behind.” 

The Boss turns to look at him, and it is the first time Killbane has looked them in the naked eye for any length of time, in a setting where he is focused on their eyes and not on wandering hands. He notices the way their pupils are blown out. He goes to chalk it up to the drugs until he remembers that morphine and the like cause pinpoint pupils, not expanded ones. His furrowed brows soften as he finds a new mystery about them to puzzle over.

“Do you know _why_ they called me the Butcher of Stilwater?” The Boss’s eyes are awash in so much black pupil that there is barely any color in them. Gun to his head, Killbane could not tell you what color their eyes are supposed to be. 

“No,” he says. He always figured it was just some kitschy nickname the press latched onto. 

“You’re about to find out,” the Boss says. They stand from the sofa, teeth grinding at the motion. “Change of plans. I'm done with subterfuge, and I'm done fucking around with this bastard. I need my clothes, and a phone. You need to call Matt.”

“What?” Killbane’s frown deepens. He sets the empty whiskey glass down. 

“We’re calling a meeting between our top people, neutral ground,” says the Boss. “I want us gathered in an hour. We are going to fucking kill Cyrus Temple.”

For a moment, Killbane looks like he’s going to argue. He meets their gaze again, and cannot shake the feeling that this must be what it is like to stare into the eyes of a shark. He ignores the fact that typically, if one is close enough to a shark to make eye contact with it, that means one is in great danger. Instead he chooses to pull his cellphone out of his pocket, and gesture towards his office. 

“There’s a dedicated line in there,” he says. “Matty hooked it up to be untraceable, although if Kinzie is the one doing it, I expect she’ll figure out how to get around that.” The Boss nods and makes for his office. Killbane brings up Matt’s number and hits dial as he asks, “where are we meeting?” 

“Magarac Island,” the Boss calls back. “It’s the only neutral ground in the city.” They lean on the edge of Killbane’s desk and regard the phone for a long moment. Finally, they take a breath and pick up the receiver to dial out. 

Shaundi picks up on the third ring, and the fear in her voice cuts them to the bone. 

“Boss?” she says, “please tell me that’s you.” 

“It is,” they say. Shaundi lets out a noise that is a mix of a sigh and a wail, and it sends a stab of pain through the Boss’s chest. “I’m alive. Barely, but still kickin’.” 

“Where have you been?”

“Hopped up on illegal morphine,” they say flatly. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, I’ll tell you later,” they say. They shift the phone to their other ear and begin explaining. “Get the crew to Magarac Island, we have a lot to discuss, and it all pertains to Cyrus Temple.” 

“Why the island?” she asks. The Boss goes quiet for a moment. 

“Shaundi, do you trust me?” they ask. 

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. 

“Good,” says the Boss. “I hope you’ll still trust me in a few hours.” Before she has a chance to ask what they mean, the Boss gently hangs up the phone. They take a deep breath and take a moment to collect themself. Killbane’s office is full of dark wood and an almost uncountable number of books. They wonder idly if he’s actually read them all, and are perusing a shelf when he knocks on the door and slides it open. 

“Matt’s gathering my crew, how about yours?” he asks, leaning on the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Same,” they say. They turn away from the books and regard him. “Well, are we ready to go to war?”

* * *

_You can make a run for my crown._

**Author's Note:**

> so one minor thing: after like six years of having my boss, I came up with a new lore idea for them. the boat explosion damaged their eyes, resulting in their pupils always being expanded. it's why they're always in sunglasses, and it took a lot of surgery to save their sight at all. 
> 
> unfortunately, it's never been mentioned in this before so i had to shoehorn it in now. i skimmed the older pieces and i don't really think eddie ever had a chance to focus on their eyes the few times they weren't wearing glasses, but still. i hope it didn't seem too out of left field. i've been planning to edit the first two installments of this series anyway since my writing has changed a lot in five years, so i can slide it in back there but i didn't want to try and do it right now because i knew it'd just delay this even more. 
> 
> as always, thank you so much for the support and i will see you next time! with any luck, it'll be before summer! and don't forget to check out the eddie centric omake/interlude if you haven't yet.
> 
> you know, as a treat.
> 
> ps be sure to check out my peak indulgence sideblog on tumblr for some boss/eddie things you may not see here @ flatstarcarcosa


End file.
